The Dirty Bar

by Nancy Mungcal

Ate cold pizza
for dinner last night,
standing
in the tiny kitchen,
wanted to quote Whitman
It seemed appropriate

Another couple
met online
a click,
a swipe,
a happily ever after

You looked for salt of the earth
in the dirty bar,
where the band
missed chords and
sung vocals out of tune
The sound system
fed back in protest
 
Conversations collapsed into each other,
a nod,
an acknowledgement,
listening still
The smell of stale beer
lingering still
And missing the cigarettes
you had been allowed to smoke before

The lights on low
hurt your eyes
too much whiskey,
melted ice

The band covered
a song you hated
but sang along to

That text message broke you
 
The band stopped playing
The game turned on
 
Something to root for